


That explains much

by wanderingsmith



Series: Will [1]
Category: The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2391077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>E3 missing scenes, Team POV of a couple people deep in de Nile</p><p>Ch I: "Mister Ross, he is very fond of celebrating holidays?"<br/>Ch II: All the humour in the air vanished as though cut with one of the many knives present while the copilot and Mister Toll reached for the battered man holding on to his rope with an obviously weakening grip as he came level with the floor.<br/>Ch III: Ah. His eyes widened in surprise; perhaps 'no hugging' was an extension of 'get out of Christmas' seat' rather than an American complaint against latin demonstrations of gratitude and friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holidays (Toll)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> I offer no excuses, -shrug-, read at your own choice :)

Setting his gear down, Toll watched the stranger hurriedly stumble his way out of the cockpit, for a second making him think of the lover escaping out the window a step ahead of the returning husband in last night's movie.

When the fellow straightened and saw them, he pasted on a too-friendly, if confused, smile, "Mister Ross, he is very fond of celebrating holidays?"

Toll stared at the newcomer disbelievingly, "Holidays?? Boss??"

Doc choked on a laugh besides him and Toll gave him a dirty look until he explained himself, "Christmas."

It was Toll's turn to choke on sniggers, smirking at the Spaniard staring at them in mostly-hidden frustration, "Yeah, I guess 'fond' isn't that far off the mark." He grinned as Doc laughed again. "Don't think I want to picture the celebration, though."

"Would you clowns clear the fucking passageway so we can go get ourselves killed?"

Toll turned to smirk at the glowering brit, "Sorry to keep you from your special seat, Christmas."

Lee glared at him suspiciously and Toll tried, he really did, to restrain his smirk, knowing the man's temper was on the edge of one of his knives, what with the boss' trying to boot them all out of his life. Again.

"What the fuck's so *special* about my *seat*??"

"I believe he means-"

"I *mean*," Toll glared a warning at the stranger, "That the boss needs watching over and the light reflecting off your skull makes you the closest thing to an angel in this circus."

With a wordless snarl of compounded frustration and a shove as his only response, Christmas stalked past them and smoothly crouched his way into the cockpit, no doubt ready to blast the boss with his short fuse. 

Turning from staring at the retreating form of the man whose seat he'd almost stolen, the stranger leaned confidentially toward Toll, lowering his voice, "His name is Christmas? He is the copilot?"

"Yeah. And the boss' right-hand; or best friend, depending on his mood. At least when Ross doesn't decide something's personal and too dangerous to let us help him."

Understanding sympathy relaxed the too-tense face, for a second, "That would be.. frustrating."

Toll grunted and saw Doc roll his eyes with an aggravated look, both of them moving to get in their seats as Gunner walked up from stowing the heavy gear. 

After the usual momentary pull-back that close proximity to Gunner always induced, the stranger put on that too-bright smile of his again, "Well, *I* am Galgo, I am the best-"


	2. Explosion (Galgo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the humour in the air vanished as though cut with one of the many knives present while the copilot and Mister Toll reached for the battered man holding on to his rope with an obviously weakening grip as he came level with the floor.

Breathing deeply to try to restrain the adrenaline high of success, and his slightly hysterical gratitude that his team had *survived*, Galgo hung on to his ceiling grip and distracted himself by focusing on the others stuffed alongside him in the overloaded helicopter. 

All the young ones that had just been rescued appeared to have survived their imprisonment more than well and were clustered together on the edge of the mob.

Somewhere too far behind him to see easily without giving up his grip, he could hear incomprehensible mutters from the tall European and his short Asian colleague who had appeared with their transport.

The fellows that had stopped him and Mister Ross from leaving, the 'old' team, were clustered at the opening before Galgo, jeering at their boss, who had managed to survive the explosion by some mad miracle.

He was about to repeat the circuit when he happened to notice that the copilot with the strange name, though leading the shouted threats and laughter at their dangling leader, watched the man hanging below them with an unblinking, *sharp*, eye...

Ha! Yes, there it was, just as he thought: quite suddenly, the bald fellow's smile vanished and he was down on his belly while shouting a firm order at the other crazy-looking tall blond European to bring the boss up. All the humour in the air vanished as though cut with one of the many knives present while the copilot and Mister Toll reached for the battered man holding on to his rope with an obviously weakening grip as he came level with the deck.

Galgo shifted closer to the pretty Luna-lady and her colleagues along one of the walls and sat down to make room for another passenger. When he looked again, Mister Ross' right-hand had found room for them to sit against the opposite wall together, and the boss himself was slumped against the younger man's side, eyes closed and looking quite ragged; broken and swollen lips moving, though the transport was too loud for Galgo to hear the words being spoken. 

Head tilted to listen, the copilot's eyes were quickly and with the ease of practise scanning the boss' body, pausing on each of the blood patches before moving on. Then with some lip-movements of his own, they both grinned, each raised a hand and knocked the sides of their fists together in an obvious ritual.

When he glanced at the others to see what their reactions were, he found everyone carefully looking away. Ah. 

He wondered if it was their leader's weakness they were allowing to be private; or the two's quite 'latin' affection.

Returning to cycling through the rest of the now settled-down team members, after a few minutes he felt a ripple of movement at his side and looked to see the lovely, and deadly, lady handing him a blanket with a chin-jerk toward their leaders.

Somewhat uneasy to be breaking everyone's blind eye, Galgo half-stood, half-leaned to hand the blanket to- Christmas! *That* was the strange name!- to *Christmas*, while carefully not looking at the man having apparently reached the end of his considerable strength and now sleeping on Christmas' shoulder.

The copilot gave him a grateful smile, though the eyes that met his were hard with warning, "Thanks."

Galgo nodded, getting back in his seat, unable to help watching out the corner of his eye as the man covered their boss' shoulders with unexpected gentleness. And left a generous ruffle at the top, shielding sleeping features from any watchers.

Though it left entirely exposed thick fingers, scratched and burned where they stuck out of their wrappings, but still gripping the copilot's knee, even in their owner's apparent sleep.


	3. Hugging (Galgo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah. His eyes widened in surprise; perhaps 'no hugging' was an extension of 'get out of Christmas' seat' rather than an American complaint against latin demonstrations of gratitude and friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -headdesk- this was meant to be SHORT!!. just little scene bits. really!!

As Mister Yang clapped his shoulder with a friendly smile and then walked away with his rather offencive partner, Galgo rolled his sleeve back down over his new inking, idly looking for the others scattered in the busy bar. 

Hearing a new song begin, he paused to listen, frowning as he recognized it. He knew, when he chose to be honest with himself, that his role in it would be that of the 'old man', now. And yet.. he had not failed, this time. His boasts were not false, he had proven it; and been accepted for it. He *was* good! Still good.

His wandering eyes focused for a moment on the young ones on the stage and he smiled sadly, thinking they were indeed a great deal like he once was. Bright and wild, brave and strong. Almighty God keep them so beautiful for many years to come.

Then a flash of bright colour among the dark shades of the crowd drew him to.. 

Ah. His eyes widened in surprise; perhaps 'no hugging' was an extension of 'get out of Christmas' seat' rather than an American complaint against latin demonstrations of gratitude and friendship.

"Yeah. You might want to avoid getting between those two, from what I've seen. Even accidentally."

Looking over his shoulder, Galgo first raised a brow at Mister Doc, then at Mister Toll when he snorted behind the black man.

"'Accidentally'?? There's nothing accidental about your enjoying riling up Christmas."

Mister Doc shrugged, unconcerned, "I was here first."

"Even if you were *there*,” Mister Toll nodded to their intimately-standing leaders, ”First, you still gave up the spot long ago. Christmas *might* just let you run things with Barney without pitching a bitch fit. IF you'd quit poking at him and getting between him and the boss." But then he hesitated, eyes distant as though picturing an entirely different sight, "Might."

"Shouldn't lie to our teammates like that, Toll. Christmas can't keep his mouth shut unless someone's life depends on it. Or Barney makes him."

Mister Toll snorted at the fellow Galgo had only met tonight. Rome? No. Jul- Ceasar, yes. One of the 'old' team, whose wounding had sparked the 'war' Galgo was hired for. "Christmas ain't that bad, Caesar, *believe* me." Mister Ceasar responded with an interested expression, much as Galgo wished to, but Mister Toll shook his head, apparently refusing to elaborate.

It did not stop there, and was rather like watching a pantomime, each remark fuelling another, so Galgo had long since fully turned to watch the show. Now he waited for the rather mad-seeming blond having appeared at the back of the pack to add a comment, though the other three did not leave room as they moved on to ways the copilot, and Mister Ross, as well, could be teased. It seemed to Galgo the signs of a good team, that they felt free to tease their leaders so.

"Turn your back on 'em for just one second and they start to mutiny."

Galgo spun at the wry growl behind him, coming face to face with the copilot, though his eyes were not nearly so hard, now. Mister Ross was once again leaning on him, however: the hand that had seemed a hug from afar now seeming more of a support for a man in dire need of true rest. Even if he chose to pretend to be well enough to join the repartee.

"No mutiny, Barney; that takes too much brains for this crowd. More likely a lifetime of torture for our sins."

"Damn right, Christmas. Wouldn't want you to forget how to talk just 'cause there was nothin' ta bitch about."

"Your concern is touching, Gunner, but with you around, there's always something to bitch about."

As the copilot joined the pantomime, though without moving from his position as support, Galgo watched Mister Ross chuckle, a fond, peaceful look resting on his team before he glanced over, "Sure you want to join this circus, Galgo? They're always like this."

"I am certain. Though I hope you do not always make yourself so tired. Sir."

"He does. But when he doesn't chase Christmas off, he usually manages to nag him until he gets enough rest."

"I'm not *that* bad, Caesar."

Mister Christmas turned back to the boss with a snort for that claim, "Yeah. You are. Remember Rome?"

Now Mister Doc perked up, "Rome?" 

"Insisted on running every damn detail himself and got himself so exhausted he fucking fell asleep on my shoulder. In a bar. Spent the rest of that mission turning away offers. From MEN! While in ITALY, for fuck's sake!"

Somewhere in the rant, Mister Ross had begun grinning at his right-hand, "You'll notice he's not bitching about the influx of offers."

"Shut up."

"Hey Christmas, we ever tell you about the jealous fit he pitched" 

Christmas's eyes whipped to the tall Swede, "*Jealous* fit??" 

"Yeah.. just before the bullets started flying. Musta forgotten to tell you, after." 

"So tell now." 

"Gunner..." 

"What? Christmas had a shit time that mission, he deserves some cheering up. And you *did* pitch a fit." 

"Ha! The ageing Romeo, yeah! How could I forget that scene??" 

Christmas' mouth dropped at Mister Toll for a noticeable second before he choked out, "'Ageing Romeo'??!" 

"Yeah. You missed the boss' fit 'cause you were busy trying to brush off a smiling white-haired guy without punching him. Longest five minutes of my *life*." 

"You just don't know how to enjoy yourself, Toll, *I* couldn't decide which show was the funniest." 

"Ross. Definitely. Almost snapped his own teeth off grinding them." 

"You *would* enjoy that, Gunner." 

Christmas' grin looked too big for his face, though Galgo did notice he did not once look toward Mister Ross. 

Who sighed tiredly, "Don't think I don't see the grin, Christmas. After 15 years of your rants without a comment, I think I deserve a break for *one* slip." 

If he had not been watching so fascinatedly, Galgo would never have noticed the softening of the copilot's features that turned their threat of mayhem to .. Galgo suddenly decided to be looking elsewhere, clearing his throat. 

"We'll see. Demented bastard." 

Mister Caesar met Galgo's eyes with knowing wryness as the boss' tired chuckle was the only response to the too-soft for anything but.. well. It was no one's affair but theirs. Certainly not Galgo's.

"Rest of you make sure the kids don't start a fight in here; I'm driving this one home before Smilee inherits the team earlier than planned." 

"Will always left it to you, Christmas." 

Galgo stilled warily in the sudden silence that had not a single smile in it, unsure who the others were so wary of.

Until the copilot spun his head and almost spit his words, low-voiced growl raising hackles even though it was only aimed at one man; who was affecting not to sense the danger. "You know damn well I won't take it!" Galgo wished he could step back from both of them without tripping over others, but then Mister Christmas seemed to catch himself, control slipping over the fury on his features, "Shut up. We're not talking about this. Come on. Night guys." 

Calling out subdued good nights, Galgo and.. *his* team -perhaps he could say that, now?- watched Mister Ross almost trip over his feet following his very stiffly, if still slowly, marching right-hand, and looked at each other wordlessly. 

Yes. His team. He and his team looked at each other in un-voiced worry for a moment before Mister Toll grimaced and muttered, "One can hope they'll actually work things out, this time." With varying expressions of disbelief, the others all turned to the bar, and Galgo, with a last glance at the, now empty, doorway, silently followed.


End file.
